Page 39 of Come As You Are

Yet.

Deep breath. Find Isabel McEvoy in contacts. Type words. Go.

Evie

We still on for tomorrow?

Five minutes of no response later, I’ve just about given up when suddenly, incoming text.

Isabel

Yep! But can we make it 11? I’m def gonna need to sleep in.

Ah, yes, I too will require recovery time from this night of debauchery.

Evie

Sounds good!

So much for that.

People always want to know why I love playing cards so much, and the reason I always give is that it’s something my dad and I did a ton when I was a kid. And it’s true—that isdefinitely the number one reason. When Sierra and my mom would go out and do the special mother-daughter things that mothers and daughters who actually have things in common do, my dad and I would kick back with cans of fruity seltzer and play.

When I was little, it was war and go fish, then spit and casino. Gin rummy came next, while I learned the very basics of blackjack and poker. On the rare occasions we played as a family, hearts or spades often came out, or Pres, which Sierra gleefully told me was actually called Asshole. As I got older, I learned everything I could—bridge, canasta, even whist. But in truth, my favorite thing about cards is that solitaire is and always has been a perfectly legit solo activity, and it’s kept me company on more occasions than I can count.

It sounds pathetic when I put it that way, which is why I never do. But it’s also why I carry a deck in my pocket the way other people carry fidgets or pens. And I guess this is the perfect time to put it to good use.

I play solitaire until the buzzer goes off, and then I empty both dryers, and text Salem to let him know his hamper is waiting in the laundry room. After, I bring my stuff upstairs, get ready for bed, and lie staring at the ceiling for far, far too many hours until sleep finally comes.

“Do it slower,” Isabel insists, her big green eyes like saucers as I finish the same card trick—my favorite one—for the third time in a row. “I’m going to figure it out.”

“If you can figure it out, it’s not going to be a very impressive talent-show display,” I point out as I intertwine my fingers and flip my hands inside out to stretch them. “The point is to dazzle everyone with my skills.”

“Well, your skills and my legs,” she says with a grin, holding the bodysuit she’ll be wearing as my assistant up against her torso again. I don’t know why she owns such a thing, but then again, if I had her body, I’d probably have it in twelve colors.

She showed me the outfit the minute I showed up in her room for practice, after a morning spent over waffles and math homework, and suggested I wear something similar. But even the new and improved version of me can’t fathom wearing somethingquiteso… so. Seeing as I’ll be playing the role of magician, I figure I can just put together an all-black outfit that works.

“I also had a thought about music,” I tell her, searching for the song in my phone I listened to in Salem’s room yesterday. “Thought it might be fun to have this in the background. What do you think?”

She listens while I put on Måneskin’s cover (Salem made sure I knew this) of “Beggin’,” and when her body starts moving to the music after the first ten seconds or so, I know I’ve got her, and I’m strangely proud. “I like this,” she says with a smile. “Yeah, let’s do this. Where’d you hear it?”

I’m certainly not telling Jenna London’s best friend that I heard it from Salem, so I tell her someone was blasting it in Rumson.

“God, I still can’t believe youlivethere. What’s it like?”

“Loud.” I shuffle the cards once, twice, three times. “Guys yell alotof shit to each other. And they stink. They come back from sports and smell rancid, and then they take showers and smell like too much body spray. They leave their shit all over the place. I wish I could tell you it’s as glamorous as it sounds, but it’s mostly just gross.”

“Oh, I believe it,” says Isabel. “But I don’t mean the boys. What’s it like for you, having no girls around?”

My hands freeze on the cards. “You know, you’re the first person to ask me that. Everyone always just wants to know stuff like whether Matt wears boxers or briefs.”

“I’d put money on boxers.”

“You’d be correct. And it’s hard, not having girls around.” I exhale slowly, my fingers starting to flip through the cards again. “I had a best friend at home. And a sister. And the girls I sat with at lunch or hung out with after school”—mostly girlfriends of Craig’s friends, which seems sad now that I think about it—“and I was really looking forward to having a roommate. I know most people love their privacy, but. I don’t know. I didn’t even realize how much I was looking forward to it until I opened my door and saw my roommate was Archibald freaking Buchanan.”

“Well, then I’m glad you have me,” she says with a grin, wrapping an arm around my neck.

“I am too,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t know why on earth Isabel McEvoy chose me for a friend, but I am extremely grateful every day that she did.

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